


Nightmares

by LadyKes



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Triple Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-10 20:59:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11699799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKes/pseuds/LadyKes
Summary: Three linked triple drabbles on the theme of nightmares and coping strategies.  Post-Series.





	Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> Credit for this goes to Paeonia, whose fic Quo Vadis sparked the first triple drabble.

The nightmare wasn’t the same every time, but they all ended the same way - with him suddenly awake, trying not to gasp like a fish as his heart nearly beat its way out of his chest.

This time it was a bridge that he’d been assigned to blow after setting some tank traps on the far side. The Jerries had gotten through faster than anyone expected, though, and he and his men had barely gotten back under cover on the near side before the shelling started. And then the the tank trap hadn’t worked like it was supposed to, the bridge hadn’t blown when it was supposed to, and all those SNAFUs meant he and his men had barely made it out alive. Not all of his men had made it out, actually, and he’d remember their faces forever. 

Somehow his gasping and twitching hadn’t woken Peggy up yet, so he carefully and quietly slipped out of bed and got his crutches and robe. He wasn’t going to be able to sleep again tonight, and he knew from experience that laying in bed being frustrated that he couldn’t sleep was worse than just getting out of bed and doing something else.

He settled in the living room with a glass of whiskey and a book, even though he didn’t think he’d drink the whiskey. The nurses and doctors at the hospital had warned him that he might always have nightmares, just like he might always feel pain in the leg he didn’t have. It was just part of war, they’d said. At least he knew how to cope with both problems. And at least those coping mechanisms usually worked. And when it wasn’t o-dark-thirty, he’d take Peggy some coffee in bed. That’d start the morning better than the night ended. 

\--

“Daniel! No!” 

Peggy startled awake from another nightmare about Daniel being pulled into the rift. This time the cord had given way despite his very secure knot. Other times the lamppost he had leashed himself to had been pulled from the ground. That incident was only one of the many dangerous incidents Daniel had been party to, but it seemed to be a favorite of her subconscious. She was certain someone could tell her why, but she didn’t much care about the why. 

Instead she cared that she’d been awoken yet again tonight, although at least this time it hadn’t been because the tiny being inside her had chosen to do a Scottish reel on her bladder. She carefully pushed herself up to sitting and grabbed the peignoir from the end of the bed, then stood up and wrapped the peignoir around herself, or at least as far around herself as it would go. That was a smaller and smaller distance each day, it seemed.

She turned to look at Daniel in case she’d disturbed him, but he was still sleeping soundly. In sleep, all the lines of worry and pain smoothed out, and she smiled to see it. She privately thought he looked at least five years younger when he was asleep. She wouldn’t disturb that sleep for the world. 

Instead she slid her feet into slippers and shuffled out to the crowded room they both used as a home office. There was always more paperwork to do and quite a bit of it didn’t require much thought. She always left a stack ready for nights like these. She settled into her chair with a pen and a glass of water and prepared to sign her name until Daniel woke up or the sun came up, whichever came first.

\---

It was amazing how quickly a pair of very small, very cold feet could wake a sleeping adult. Add to that some muffled sniffles and Daniel was awake whether he wanted to be or not. He shifted his remaining shin away from the feet, but he also opened his eyes to see the teary face of his daughter. 

“Bad dream, baixinha?” he asked her sympathetically, and she nodded pitifully. 

“You wanna tell me about it? You know they’re not as scary when you talk about them.”

Between deep, shuddery breaths and occasional sniffles, she told him a convoluted tale involving her favorite teddy and the neighbor’s dog. He provided sympathetic noises and nods at what he hoped were the right intervals. By the time she’d wound down, her eyes were getting heavy again, but Peggy’s eyes were blinking awake. He hadn’t wanted to wake Peggy up, but a sniffling, squirming, talking child was hard to sleep through. 

“I’m sorry you had such a bad dream. But it’s over now and everything’s safe,” he assured Beth as he cuddled her close. She sighed and was so silent for a few minutes that he started to drop off again himself.

“Daddy?” 

“Hmm?” That was about all he could muster right now.

“Do you and Mummy ever have bad dreams?”

He opened his eyes and glanced over his daughter’s curls at Peggy, who was clearly sleepily amused and equally clearly going to make him answer. 

“We do,” he told Beth. “And when we do, we tell each other about them, and then we feel better.”

They didn’t tell each other quite as much, and the telling didn’t usually happen right away, but that was partially because they didn’t need to say much after this many years together. 

“ ‘Kay. G’night, Daddy.”

“Good night, baixinha.”


End file.
